stormy nights and shame cigarettes
by everhtorne
Summary: "What makes you think I'm going to start discussing my problems with some random loser on a street corner?" He holds a hand over his heart as if her words have wounded him. "Loser?" / In another universe, this is the story of how Jake and Amy met. R&R!


**A/N: This is kind of an au thing i don't even know I feel like everything I write is too samey.**

**TW: mention of cigarettes, I do not promote smoking.**

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><p>There's a storm tonight. It's pretty bad. Heavy rain and everything.<p>

Amy leans against the wall of the restaurant that her disastrous date had just taken place in. She shouldn't be standing out in the storm – she knows that. She's going to make herself ill. But she's under shelter and it's not too cold if she pulls her jacket around herself tightly and, as much as she hates herself for it, she _really_ needs a cigarette.

The street is dark and the air is humid and foggy. Rain splashes out from under cars that race past her. She probably looks a mess. Her arms are crossed; she can feel an angry frown etched onto her face. She's just so fed up. Tonight has been awful. She thought that moving to the city and training to be a detective would be easy enough.

Apparently not.

Not that she'll ever admit it to anyone, but she's been struggling with all the police training lately. It's pretty brutal.

But that doesn't matter. She'll get through it. She's absolutely _not_ having second thoughts about her career choice. Right?

Abruptly, another person appears beside Amy and pulls her from her thoughts, tall and very male. His hair is dark and curling at the ends from the rain. Amy continues to smoke her cigarette in silence, feeling incredibly mopey. How pathetic must she look loitering outside a restaurant after a failed date, looking more and more like a drowned cat as the seconds pass due to the heavy rain?

The guy standing a few feet away glances at her and smiles faintly. Then he pulls out his own pack of cigarettes. Amy turns to look at his faintly pleased expression and scowls.

"I'm sorry, is something funny?"

It comes out a little harsher than intended.

He holds his hands up in defence but is still smiling.

"You just look really mad."

The man lights up his cigarette and takes a drag, raising his dark eyebrows and smirking at her. Amy glowers at him. He can only be in his early twenties, like her.

"And that amuses you?"

He stares out into the busy road, at the cars and motorcycles that drive past, splashing through the muddy puddles and overflowing drains.

"Yes," he answers simply.

Amy turns away in frustration. A few beats of silence follow while she continues to smoke.

He nods to the cigarette in her hand.

"Those things kill you, you know," he warns.

Amy shakes her head in automatic defence.

"I don't smoke."

The guy looks pointedly at the cigarette in her hand and arches an eyebrow in amusement.

Amy follows his gaze and frowns.

"I mean, I'm not a _smoker_. I'm not an addict like you probably are. I just smoke on occasion to relieve stress."

He purses his lips to hold back a laugh.

"You do realise how ridiculous you sound, right?"

Amy feels herself getting angry at his reaction.

"You wouldn't understand."

She can feel his eyes on her as she taps her cigarette against her thumb and watches as the ash falls to the damp ground below them.

"What is it that's got you stressed then?"

"What?" Amy blinks.

"You said you only smoke when you're stressed."

Amy sighs in realisation and turns to directly face the stranger who has interrupted her self-wallowing.

"What makes you think I'm going to start discussing my problems with some random loser on a street corner?"

He holds a hand over his heart as if her words have wounded him.

"Loser?" he repeats.

"Exactly," Amy nods, keeping her expression stern.

She takes one final puff on her cigarette before tossing it to the floor and stamping it out with her heel. As she turns to leave, the man calls after her tauntingly.

"I may be a loser but at least I can admit that I'm addicted to cigarettes."

He's trying to get a reaction out of her. Amy knows that. So why is she turning back to scowl and correct him?

"I am_ not_ addicted," she growls.

He laughs at her reaction but doesn't say anything else. Amy narrows her eyes at him, wondering what his problem is.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're incredibly annoying?" she inquires in irritation.

He just laughs again at her question.

"Yeah, all the time. Has anyone ever told you that you're way too uptight?" he quips.

Amy gapes; her mouth completely dropping open. She doesn't know why she's surprised. She hears it all the time. _You need to relax more. You stress too much. _

But she certainly hadn't been expecting to hear it from this complete stranger.

"How dare you?" she hisses.

He just shrugs.

"It's just a simple observation."

Amy splutters, at a loss for words.

"Yeah, well you're –"

"Devastatingly handsome?" he suggests with a proud grin.

"A rude, arrogant, self-absorbed idiot," Amy finishes.

He just rolls his eyes.

"Wow, I'm leaning so much about myself," he murmurs sarcastically, taking a long drag on his cigarette and breathing it into Amy's face. "Why are you being so judgy anyway? You don't even know me."

Amy forces a polite smile, nodding at him.

"You're right. Let's keep it that way."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that because it hurt my feelings," he replies.

Amy just shakes her head at his idiocy and leans back against the cold brick wall behind her. She's suddenly feeling slightly flushed.

"My name is Jake – "

"I don't care," Amy cuts him off tiredly.

"I've lived in the city for my entire life," he continues, cheerily, "I have a goldfish called Gerald. I am in the police academy, currently training to be a badass cop –"

Amy's eyes widen when he mentions that he's in the academy. Why has she never come across him before? She can't help her shocked expression and outburst of, '_you_?"

The guy – _Jake_ – pauses and looks at her.

"Me, what?"

"You're training to be a cop?"

"Uh-huh," he nods happily. "Why does that surprise you?"

He definitely doesn't seem mature enough to handle such a serious job. Amy just shakes her head and waves a hand dismissively.

"No reason," she mutters.

Jake instantly resumes with his list. "Also, I am exceptionally charming. My mother tells me so every day."

"Why are you telling me this?" Amy asks.

"So we can get to know each other better," he answers as if that's the obvious answer.

Amy has to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

"Why would I want to get to know you better?"

Jake coughs and runs a hand through his hair, completely disregarding her question.

"What's your name?"

Amy pauses for a second, wondering whether or not she wants to give her details out to this completely random, acutely annoying, somewhat cute stranger.

"Anna," she says, blurting the first name that comes to mind. As soon as the word has left her mouth though, Amy knows that she had paused for too long.

"No it's not," Jake huffs, unconvinced.

"Yes it is," Amy contends.

Jake stares at her for a few moments, trying to work out whether or not she's lying.

"I don't believe you," he finally concludes.

"That's hardly my problem," Amy scoffs.

"Why are you so against telling me your real name?"

"Why are you so against leaving me alone?"

Jake smirks; it's condescending and slightly lop-sided.

"I'm just trying to cheer you up," he assures her.

Amy shoots him a bluntly fierce look.

"And how's that working out for you?"

Jake deflates a little, seeming to get the message.

"I guess I should probably leave you alone then?" he suggests quietly, looking at her with a small smile.

"Yes please."

Jake pulls a cigarette box from inside his pocket and fiddles with the contents. Amy isn't paying much attention, she's glancing at her watch and wondering whether to go home or not. It's late – past two a.m.

"So this has been fun," Jake interrupts her thoughts.

"That's one word for it," Amy murmurs, inaudible to him.

"I'll see you around, mystery lady," he bows and takes her hand, slipping something inside it.

Amy bites down on her lip to stop herself from laughing at his stupid made-up name for her. When she looks down she sees the white cigarette packet in her palm.

Jake doesn't say anything else, turning and walking away from her, his leather jacket reflecting the pale moonlight from above. He pushes his cigarette into a public trash can as he walks across the street.

Amy watches him walk for a minute or two. His movements are lazy and slow and deliberate and he looks so casually cool like a mountain lion or a panther or something. It's kind of… distracting.

Jake turns back once to shout over his shoulder.

"Stop checking out my ass!"

Amy laughs out loud, quickly slapping a hand to cover her mouth. Her cheeks warm. He's an idiot.

He winks once and then turns a corner so that he's out of sight.

After standing still for a second, Amy looks down at the battered white box in her palm. There's one slightly droopy cigarette inside (why would she want that?) – and, wait, there's something else on the side. Scrawled in messy handwriting in a black biro pen is a phone number. His phone number, she assumes.

Amy sighs and shakes her head. She should have known that's what he was really trying to give her.

With a blank expression, Amy crumples the box in her hand and stuffs it deep inside her jacket pocket. As _if_ she's ever going to call him.

(She isn't. Probably.)


End file.
